


Born to Die

by Yangry



Category: RWBY
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Self-Hatred, inspired after the new episode i'm really worried about jaune ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:23:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5698267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yangry/pseuds/Yangry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short one-shot nspired after Chapter 8 of Volume 3. Jaune's parents believed that Jaune would leave Beacon; so did Jaune. But only his parents thought that he'd come home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born to Die

**Author's Note:**

> I have feelings about Jaune Arc and honestly, how little he thinks of himself is really awful. So what am I going to do? Take that to the biggest extreme! I love to suffer. Also, this is a rewrite of an idea I had before Volume 3 came out, the fic was on my Tumblr account ofdustandpotions.tumblr.com, just so you know it isn't plagiarism.

Jaune had to wait. He had to look, wait, observe, to find the perfect moment. The perfect moment to bathe his sword in smoking blood, to look to the heavens in a final stand, to look upon the battlefield and watch the earth rise towards him. Jaune had to wait for the perfect time to die. Jaune knew he wouldn’t get through Beacon. He knew it with his heart and soul. Hadn’t his father told him so? Hadn’t his parents kept his dinner warm for him? Hadn’t they expected him to fall behind the rest, an always and constant failure? Their doubt was always lingering. Always in the back of his head.

_It’s OK if you can’t do it._

_We don’t mind if you can’t do it._

_Be careful if you can’t do it._

_You can’t do it._

He’d always wanted to be a hero, but had had different plans in mind. He knew he couldn’t fight, but he could help in any way he could. But  soon Jaune found less and less ways to save and help people until all that seemed worth anything was being a Hunter. There was no honor, no dignity, no better way to leave Remnant than to die on the battlefield. So, while Jaune could have easily still been classed as a child, he started planning his own death.

He never called it suicide. He was going to be a martyr. He would rise up as the sacrifice, as the brave soul who’d given his life for the cause. Because in Jaune’s head, that was all he knew to be right. His father had said so. He didn’t know what cause he was giving himself to, what direction to shine the light of his death, but he had time to figure it out. At Beacon. He could figure out what the fight was for and then deliver himself to it, mind, body and soul. Jaune had thought his life and death was completely in his hands, though really, the strings of his existence were held unwittingly in his father, his grandfather and all his ancestor’s hands, dead and alive.

He got to Beacon and realized that he had to do more than wait. He had to train, had to lead, had to make connections with people. That stung, especially when he knew he’d be leaving them as soon as the opportunity arose. But after a while one of the questions he tried to ignore, pushed to back of his head, was unwittingly answered. Who would he die for?

The answer was so simple and innocent in concept; his friends.

His team and Ruby’s team and everyone he’d met and loved, he would die for. It seemed fitting; along the way he’d wronged them and lied to them to keep his plans alive. His death could act as retribution to that. Useless, helpless, worthless Jaune Arc would finally find something meaningful he could do. Because nothing he said had any weight. Nothing he did was considered to be more than some awful joke. There was something lurking in the atmosphere. Armies stood to protect what didn’t seem like all too much. Battleships hovered as a constant reminder of danger, that there was always something hiding in the darkness. His friends were starting to fight an evil that not even to them had a face. The White Fang? Or something else? He didn’t have a date, he didn’t have a time, but death hung on his breath and clung to his body.

_It’s time to die._


End file.
